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Pothead: Realtalk.

Would you like to know what I do?

I smoke joints. Oh goodness.

How many joints have I smoked.

I just smoked a joint now.

Just about any given moment,

I could be smoking a joint.

I could be rolling a joint

I could have just finished

smoking a fat joint.

I love smoking white boys.

I fux with white boys.

A lot of people smoke joints.

Some of that lot won't admit it.

But a lot of people smoke a lot of joints.

It's like a very disorganized and forgetful club.

But we always remember to smoke a joint.


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my veins freeze

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May Day

'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

She handed the pistol to Hope, right after the vows, right before the reception.

'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

'There's a bullet for you, just in case.'

Hope had left the gun on the table.

A week earlier, drunk off self-pity, she had taken it out of its case and walked to the kitchen, where she stuck the barrel in her mouth and proceeded to take pictures of herself to send to Ray.

In a rare instance of good fortune, her phone ran out of battery before she could indulge her sense of pithy revenge. She woke up and pried open her tear-salted eyelashes then made sure to delete an…